Beginning Again
by EhCanuck
Summary: After Steve is attacked he ends up living in house with all sorts of strange and crazy people as he tries to come to terms with what happened to him and what he should do now that everything has changed. An AU where Tony takes in far too many strays, Steve is confused and JARVIS wishes he could take on solid form.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own the Avengers or anything else referenced in this, just my plot.**

* * *

It always rains before something big, good or bad, happens.

Steve isn't sure why, but it sure as hell always seems to.

It had been raining when he had taken his first step (according to his mother).

When his father had died due to alcohol poisoning when he was a child, it had been pouring rain.

It had been drizzling when he had got his first job.

When his mother had quietly passed due to pneumonia when he was fifteen, it had been raining.

It had been thunderstorming the day he had graduated high school, top of his grade and with the highest marks ever received by a student at the school.

When he had _lost _his first job it had been raining.

There had been a torrential downpour the day he had gotten accepted at the University of New York for a double major in History and Fine Arts.

When he got his first apartment there was a sort of misty rain.

Later when he looked back on it, he would suppose that's why there was a veritable deluge that day when he left his job at the bookstore for the night.

The day that changed _everything_.

His buddy Dernier was supposed to pick him up from work for the 'Commandos' biweekly poker night but one garbled call later (bad connection due to the storm) had him with no immediate ride. The Frenchman had had to take a slight detour as one of his co-workers with whom he carpooled with had gone into premature labour on the highway and they had had to go to the hospital. He and the other fellow were waiting with her until her husband could get there so she wouldn't be alone and in labour.

Fair and very understandable.

However, looking out at the rain had him wishing for a moment that Dernier wasn't such a good guy before feeling awful for thinking such a thing.

Steve looked down at his watch and groaned when he saw it was another half hour before the next bus arrived. His phone was no longer getting signal and the store didn't have one so calling one of the other guys or a cab was out. He could go back inside but that would mean disabling the alarm and would only delay his problem.

That then left him with only one option: walk.

Which wasn't too bad really, sure he had asthma and his immune system was crap but one little walk in the rain couldn't hurt, right? It was summertime and warm out so running and the rain shouldn't trigger an attack and his flat was twenty minutes away by foot, even less than that if he took shortcuts. He could then call Morita or a cab from there or at least grab a change of clothes and an umbrella before walking over to Dugan's. With a look up at the sky, he had decided against any shortcuts, realizing that the route would be incredibly muddy and slippery.

Instead he had begun jogging home, his sneakers quickly becoming soaked along with the rest of him as he ran through puddles on the sidewalk and on the road. About ten minutes from home, it had begun to rain even harder, making it difficult to see and he had then decided to pause for a moment, feeling his chest tighten a bit, a sign that he was pushing it.

So he had slowed to a walk and then ducked under a nearby tree in front of the municipal offices before he took a draw on his inhaler (just to be on the safe side) and then waited for his body to settle. He fished out his cell again and sighed, disappointed when still no service bars showed as thunder rolled overhead. He would've ducked into the municipal offices at that point to wait out the storm a bit but the doors were locked, business hours having finished an hour before. He had been half-tempted to go to one of the nearby houses and asking for shelter but had decided against it; he was only ten minutes away.

Feeling better, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and began to run again, shivering as a light wind picked up, his clothes plastered to his skin not providing him with any protection.

He was about a block away when _It _happened. One minute he was fine and then the next he couldn't tell which way was up or down as this huge weight crashed into him, sending them both flying into an alley. Instinctively he kicked out, separating them in what felt like an eternity as he flew through the air and hit the ground hard, all the air rushing out of his lungs as he did so.

He lay there dazed on the ground for a moment; his chest painfully tight as he struggled to breathe. Coming to his senses, his breath coming in in gasps and wheezes, he rolled onto his front and fumbled to get his backpack off while awakening nerves began screaming in protest, alerting him of the state of his abused body. He groped in the dark for the right pocket in a panic for his inhaler as he fought to keep the terror at bay and to draw in a breath, for his lungs to expand and his throat to open.

As soon as he managed to depress the button, he began to feel his body begin to relax as the medication began it's work allowing him to draw in some air for his starving lungs. That soon, however, became the least of his problems as on his panic during the asthma attack, he had completely forgotten what had caused it.

He had quickly remembered as a withered hand clenched around his throat and another hauled on his jacket, impossible strength pulling him into the shadows.

He couldn't and still can't quite remember what happened after that; he could recall sensation more then anything truly.

Despite the deceptively pleasant floaty feeling that blurred everything, he was sure he would never forget the sharp pain as teeth tore into his throat, the too-strong hands keeping him from struggling and feeling life drain from his body as warm rain fell from overhead.

Nor would he forget the feeling of the a massive roar rang in the air, the sound filling his head and resonating in his bones as the light blinded him. In what felt like forever but was probably only a second, he realized he was falling to the ground while all his muscles seized and a massive shock ran through him. When he hit the ground in a lifeless heap, smoke coming off his clothing and body and his shoes blown off, all of his hair on end; some part of his mind had recognized it:

He had been hit by lightening.

Or rather, whatever the hell had been on top of him had been hit by lightening and the charge had carried through to him. He knew that he needed to move but as he couldn't really control his limbs, he was barely able to push himself up, let alone move anywhere.

When he had collapsed on the ground once more, his muscles giving up on him, he had thought it to be the end. He could feel blood rolling down his neck while the rain soaked him and the smoke triggered his asthma again. He was only twenty-three and didn't want to die but he was helpless; no matter how strong his will was, he was still at the mercy of his body. To make matters even worse, as his vision began to go grey and fuzzy and he struggled for air, a small fire seemed to spark in his veins and he moaned weakly in pain as it grew and began to spread around his body.

Caught up in his pain, he missed the sounds of a fight breaking out and the death throes of the creature that bit him; though he did hear footsteps crunching on the gravel and a warm hand (that had shocked him at first contact!) pressing down on the wound on his neck.

He opened his eyes to see a blurry figure illuminated from behind by the streetlamp. This was not the creature that attacked him.

"He lives yet?" A warm tenor voice exclaimed, surprised. "Lady! I have need of your aid!" He heard hooves approach behind him before someone cursed heavily and the creak of leather hinted at the person getting off the animal as he then heard the two voices speak in low tones. He stopped paying attention; closing his eyes as the world spun, all sound seemed to come from a distance away and his body caught fire completely, every nerve screaming at him in pain.

"Do not fret valiant Thor, you have indeed vanquished the creature. It appears the youth is special; his name is not in my ledger yet so I will take him by the Sanctuary; the good Healer will be able to aid him."

Yep, looking back on it, it made sense that it was raining that day, the day that changed _everything._

* * *

**The description of him getting hit by lightening was borrowed in part from real life accounts, I hope I did it justice. **

**This is my first time writing these characters, please let me know if I'm making any of them OOC.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own the Avengers or anything else referenced in this, just my plot.**

* * *

He woke up.

That kind of surprised him.

* * *

Perhaps the term 'woke up' wasn't quite accurate.

He opened his eyes to an ocean of stars which couldn't be right as he could feel a bed beneath him and you couldn't see the stars so clearly near the city... His confusion didn't last long as when he tried to shift his position a little, his nerves informed him how much pain he was in and he passed out again.

After that, he... drifted. Most times he was not really aware of his body or anything, just peaceful white noise until he came back to himself again.

He could feel the soft sheets he was lying on, the pillow under his head and could see the patterns soft light drew on his eyelids but after his initial try, he wasn't much inclined to try to move, wasn't even sure if he could. He was somewhat aware of time passing, of low voices talking, of the sounds that they made as they picked things up, put them down or moved around the room, but couldn't really bring himself to care. After all, any time he tried not to focus, to push past the fog in his mind, he became _especially_ aware of the itch at his throat and how his body felt like it was hit by a semi. It was like his body was made of lead and every nerve was on fire; no matter how he tried, he couldn't even twitch to put it out.

He knew he was fading in and out of consciousness but everything _hurt. _It was hard to make himself try to hang on to reality when letting go meant a break from the pain and being aware meant unable to scratch the itch, to put out the fire, to ease the ache in his muscles.

He felt himself fade away again and let go with relief.

* * *

"How is he?" A dark haired man with mischievous eyes and a goatee asked, curious, as he and another man walked down the hall to the kitchen.

"Better than expected, he'll actually survive for starters." The man with curly brown hair and glasses said tiredly as he opened some of the cupboards and began to pull ingredients down. "He's very lucky."

The tenor snorted, as he sat on one of the stools and leaned on the counter; watching the other man bustle around. "I don't know if luck is really a word I'd use in this case. He's going to have a bad a time adjusting as you did I think."

"Quite possibly, I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case." The scruffier man replied dryly, turning on an element and putting a wok on it with a bit of oil before pulling some cooked chicken breast out of the fridge."but judging by what background we were able to find on him, he'll manage to adjust. From the sound of things, he's rather stubborn and optimistic if nothing else."

"Sounds like about he'll fit in with the other bullheaded squatters around here" The goateed man replied with a laugh, spinning around as much as the stool allowed before spinning the other direction.

"You love us." The baritone replied, adding vegetables to the stir-frying meat.

"Lies! Lies and Slander!" The other proclaimed, jokingly aghast, placing a hand over his heart and pointing dramatically with the other. "What kind of falsehoods have you been spreading about me? I tolerate you lot at best!"

"You love us." Glasses rumbled back, amused before pointing to the man on the stool with the spatula. "Admit it or no stir fry for you."

"I don't... _dislike_ you, oh blackmailer and withholder of tasty food." Was the snarky reply he got in return, "Now gimme."

"You're ridiculous." Said blackmailer replied as he put a bowl in front of his friend before changing the subject. "Going back to our comatose patient, do you know if Natasha was able to contact her friend? Considering how out of our depths we are, he might prove invaluable."

"She hasn't heard back from her contacts yet, hopefully she will before he begins to wake. Much as I hate to admit it, you're right." Goatee replied through bites, "Mmm, Bruce, I gotta get you to cook for me more often."

"Sirs?" A soft British tenor called, "if you could make you're way to the sick rooms, your guest is waking up."

The two shared a look, "I guess we'll be making it up as we go then." A wide grin spread across the tenor's face before he quickly wolfed down the rest of his meal before he hopped down and turned on his heel and began walking. "Excellent, it's what I do best."

"Should I call the contractors now then?" Bruce sighed, resigned before quickly finishing his own and he hurried to catch up. "Or wait until everything is on fire again?"

"You know Brucie, your lack of faith in me is disturbing." The other playfully commented, holding the door for the other.

"It's not so much lack of faith as it is experience Tony." The man said haughtily with a sniff, hiding his amusement. "Your capacity for destruction is second only to your ability to create and, inevitably, both options always seem to involve a lot of explosions."

* * *

He mentally tensed as he felt himself 'slip' into his skin again, slowly regaining consciousness but was relieved when there was no pain and no ache. There were parts of him that still...itched, but that was fine. He could deal with that.

He tried to move again and felt a surge of delight pass through him when he realized his body was slowly responding.

Steve gingerly opened his eyes and blinked, confused, looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't his ceiling nor that of the local hospital (which he had memorized by the time he was six, considering how often he was a patient); it was painted to look like the night sky – which explained his earlier recollection – and it was also considerably higher...

Where was he?

He tried to sit upright but it was like all of his energy was gone and his limbs still felt as if they were tied to heavy weights resulting in a sort of twitch-flop that had him staring at the ceiling again. After a few tries, he found that trying to move too many muscles at once was beyond him so while individual fingers would cooperate, his arm wouldn't and what he could still slowly move, there was no grace or speed to the motion. Dammit.

"Ah, you're awake!" A warm, slightly accented voice sounded to his left, Steve tried to turn his head to see the man but couldn't. "That is good! Very good! Jarvis? Would you mind fetching the others?"

He heard a few clinks and a weird shuffing sound before the voice continued. "We were starting to think you might sleep forever. How are you feeling?"

Steve tried to answer but his mouth felt like it was cotton, the itch was back and all that came out was a pained groan.

"Ah yes, what was I thinking?" The voice bemoaned, though it still sounded amused. "A moment please." Then he heard the clicking of a door, then one or two steps followed by a series of crashing and cursing before the room was silent again.

The hell? What kind of madhouse had he ended up in?

Blinking, he jumped as in that second someone else appeared at his bedside and was now looming over him.

"Sorry about that sir, the three of them are overexcited and tend to have a very one track mind as a result."

Steve looked up at him, confused, trying to bring the man's features into focus before feeling his stomach drop as he realized that the man was, well, see-through. And floating.

_Well, it was no longer too far fetched that he had simply died; _he thought as his brain overloaded trying to process the sight before him before giving up and he felt himself drift again as the world slowly faded to black and he fainted.

* * *

**So what do you think? First time writing these guys and am still getting a feel for the characters, hopefully haven't botched it too badly.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own the Avengers or anything else referenced in this, just my plot.**

**Sorry I don't have a beta, if there are any errors or parts aren't clear, please let me know so I can fix them.**

* * *

"Oh dear." Jarvis said, sounding flustered.

'What?...Oh Jarvis, _buddy_." Tony commented, amused yet sympathetically as he finally managed to enter the room, approach their patient and make an educated guess as to what just happened. "I don't think he was ready to see you yet."

He had gotten excited and decided to race Bruce as their medical room was on the opposing side of the house from the kitchens. It had been a little embarrassing that he had managed to not only slip and fall but also took out both his close friend and Doctor Erskine (who was coming around the corner); causing them to crash into one of the shelves in the hall.

Most embarrassing and not at all dignified, especially for someone his age.

Slightly more embarrassing was how both took it in stride; as though they were _used_ to such happenings around his enormous home. Which, of course, was totally untrue. Except for that one time... or when...still. It didn't happen often enough that they should just be able to roll with it, right?

Right.

Now his old friend was hovering over the bed and looking a little distraught that the kid had passed out. Knowing Jarvis as well as he did, he bet the other was wishing he was tangible. Again. Though it was likely the first time in a while that he wasn't wishing it so he could stop Tony as he did not share his delight for explosions.

"If you've had no experience with the supernatural, waking up with a ghost floating overhead is probably too much." He said as he passed by, patting the air above Jarvis's shoulder in sympathy. "I'm sure it wasn't because of you personally."

The man slumped, "I am aware sir, just for a moment, I forgot."

"S'okay Jarvis." Tony said as he leaned over the bed to examine the heart rate monitor, "Could happen to, WHOA!" He was startled when the boy, still unconscious, surged upward with a snarl only to be stopped by the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Instinctively jerking back and retreating a bit, he stared as the kid went limp again and slumped into the mattress.

"We thought that might happen." Dr. Erskine observed, causing Tony to jump having not realized that the other was behind him. "It's why we used restraints and only Jarvis and I have been involved in his treatment so far."

"What?" Tony asked, looking warily at Steve as Dr. Erskine picked up the folder on the shelf and jotted a few things down before closing it.

"He was bitten by a vampire." Jarvis replied slowly, as though to a child. "We were hoping he had not been accidentally turned when Thor interrupted the creature's feeding and was instead just experiencing some previously unknown side effects but it has become evident that that is not the case."

"So he's now either a thrall or fully a vampire?" Bruce asked sadly from the side, knowing that if that were the case, the brilliant, caring young adult he'd read about in the papers was gone and was instead little more than a rabid dog. Thralls were created by vampires to serve them and were mindless slaves (to their instincts and maker), hungry for blood; quite similar to zombies actually. Vampires weren't much better being much closer to how they were described in folklore instead of more modern stories, ruthless predators they were just self-aware, slightly intelligent and driven by their hunger.

"Not exactly." Dr. Erskine answered delicately. "We were hoping at first that he'd remain human but within hours of his arrival his heart rate began slowing and his core temperature dropped. I'd say his state now is similar to that of hibernating animals; his heart rate has stabilized at six beats per minute, breathes once every two minutes and his temperature seven degrees below standard. Considering he survived the vampire's death (which he wouldn't have if he had been made into a thrall) and that his heart didn't stop completely, we were then hoping he'd been turned into a Dhampir or something similar. I'm glad now that we decided to err on the side of caution with the restraints as, given his reaction just now, it would seem he thirsts for blood and is certainly then not qualify as a Dhampir or anything like that."

They sat in silence for a moment before Dr. Erskine continued, "Essentially, we've no idea what the young man has been changed into. I've never heard of anything like it and Yinsen's been looking through the archives and cannot find anything either...Tony, you've been around much longer than I, have you ever run into or heard of a vampire or creature like him?"

"No." Tony answered slowly as he gradually sorted through his memories. "I can't say I have. Though my memories isn't the greatest and most undead tend to avoid me...No, from what I can recall, any type of vampire or undead I've seen are about the same: they die when they are turned and they look it. Pale skin, hallowed eyes, long nails, red eyes, cool to the touch, tend to have lost quite a bit of hair..." He trailed off, before continuing. "They always looked like the monsters they were whereas Steve now appears to be in the pinnacle of health."

"Exactly." Dr, Erskine said, nodding. "We knew he was at least affected by the bite but in a completely different way. It is possible he may still be able to stand in the sun without being injured, eat garlic, retain his consciousness as a human and avoid the more animalistic instincts that vampires have."

"You mean like he'll be more like Dracula?" Bruce asked thoughtfully. "You know, like one of those fictional more debonair, seductive, aristocratic-y type vampires?"

"It's possible." Jarvis replied with a nod. "We're essentially flying blind though so practically anything is."

"Regardless," Dr. Erskine quickly dismissed the thought before any outrageous theories could be voiced, "returning to the subject at hand. Until he wakes, we will not know how much of Steve Rogers remains and we know that he is hungry judging by his reaction to you Tony. As such, we must be cautious."

"Cautious how?" Tony asked warily. He didn't like that word, it led to annoying restrictions and boring rules.

"Well to start," Jarvis replied drily, knowing exactly what he was thinking "the restraints remain in place. And I must insist that both Doctor Bruce and yourself along with Mr. Yinsin stay a distance away from him until we can determine his level of consciousness and control."

"Yes." Dr. Erskine confirmed before repeating. "He's hungry, and as you are warm blooded, your scents must be like a siren's song to him. Jarvis and I will alternate keeping watch as I'm cold blooded and less likely to awaken those instincts and Jarvis, given he is a ghost and has no blood, if he does wake, he can explain and answer any questions without driving him mad with thirst."

"Huh. So I should look into getting some blood bank donations up here then, yeah?" Tony mused, clearly lost in thought before looking over to where Dr. Erskine was, Jarvis hovering behind him and asked curiously "...Any specific kind? A? AB? O? Does the whole positive/negative thing matter? ...Should I even get human or should I get animal instead? If animal, should it be mammal cause of the whole 'warm-blooded' thing at least or would any kind do?"

"Any kind you could get should be fine." Jarvis replied drily, having been around Tony the longest, he was the fastest at processing the ramble. "A variety might even be preferable as if Mr. Rogers remains, I'm sure he would at least appreciate a choice."

"Yes, good." Tony said absentmindedly, his thoughts clearly already far away as he wandered out of the room. "A variety. I can do that, I wonder if Jane still volunteers at the blood bank. Wait, don't they store it in freezers? Would you have to microwave it to reheat it?...Ohhhh, I should contact Frigga and see if..."

"Is there anything I can do?" Bruce asked after a moment deciding against following his scatter-brained friend. When Tony saw a challenge, he tended to go a bit overboard and Bruce had already done his duty reeling him in for the day. Let someone else try to contain the whirlwind that was Tony Stark for now.

"Not at the moment." Dr. Erskine replied, flipping through Steve's folder again. "It will depend on how the poor boy wakes, if he's still himself or if the vampire venom did non-visible damage. Though if our best case scenario occurs, I'm sure you will be invulnerable considering he will likely be running into many of the same problems you did."

Bruce nodded, he could do that.

* * *

Steve gradually woke again, his brain feeling fuzzy and slow and stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before slowly blinking.

So, still not dead.

That was good.

"Good morning Steve." A somewhat familiar (though he couldn't place it) tenor voice with a crisp RP English accent sounded to his left. "I apologize for startling you earlier, how are you feeling?"

Startling him?

Startling?

Thinking was hard...Was like swimming through molasses as he tried to piece his thoughts and words together.

"Di..." He licked his lips when his voice came out as a croak, his mouth dry and his tongue feeling clumsy as he did so before trying again.

"Did you get the plates of the truck that ran me over?" He slowly rasped.

"We did." The voice replied. Was there a note of vindictive satisfaction in there? "He will not be hurting anyone again."

Well that was good.

"If you'll wait a moment, I will go fetch the Doctor."

Steve didn't respond and blinked slowly up at the ceiling again as he felt his brain slowly start up. It was like he was on dial-up or something, he could almost hear the annoying dialling sound as his brain slowly made the connections and booted up.

What had happened?

It had been game night and it had been raining.

...Dernier had been running late as he'd had to stop at the hospital so he'd decided to make his own way home.

...Did he actually make it home?

Steve thought, the night was a bit of a blur...he was pretty sure he hadn't. It had been raining..._warm water splashing on his skin as his body cried in agony._

Had he actually been hit by a car? ..._a heavy weight came crashing into him, knocking him onto the pavement and into the wall._

Is that why he had a Doctor?...s_trong hands gripping him, holding him down, can't get away_

How badly was he hurt? ..._teeth tore at his throat and there was pain pain pain pain._

"Take a deep breath...and out. And again, in...and out." The strong smell of mint under his nose tore him out of his thoughts along with a soothing baritone. "Ah, there we are. It appeared you were having a small panic attack, are you alright?"

Steve was at a loss, he still didn't really know what happened and he was certain that he didn't know the answer to that question either so instead he just shrugged.

"Well then, I am Doctor Abraham Erskine, do you remember who you are?"

"Steve, Steve Rogers." He croaked.

"Good, good." The voice said and he heard papers shuffling. "What is the year?"

"You testing me for a concussion doc? 2014. President's Obama and we're in New York City in the United States."

"Excellent." Erskine said, sounding pleased. "Now then, explanations. First off, I may startle you but I promise that I will not harm you so please do not panic."

What?

The comment made sense shortly after as an older gentleman with wispy salt and pepper hair, a receding hairline, beard and glasses leaned over into his line of sight. It wouldn't have been so startling if he didn't have slight scaling on his visible skin and if his pupils weren't slit, like a cats.

While he started, he squashed the panic rising in him. Explanations. He had been promised an explanation. This would all make sense, he was sure. Maybe he'd been slipped a new hallucinogenic drug and this was some sort of side effect?

The Doctor gave a small smile at his reaction and began. "You are presently in a home for what you would see as mythological creatures. I am a Naga, a _Vipera aspis_ to be exact and as you may have noted, am half man, half snake. On your way home July 17, you were attacked by a vampire." At Steve's incredulous look, he repeated. "Yes, a vampire though likely not one as you know them. To us they are like a rabid predator, while they have some intelligence and self-awareness, they have no control or restraint and are driven by their instinct to hunt; nothing like you read about in Dracula or Anne Rice's books. Typically when we find traces of one in the area, we try to hunt it down and kill it before it can attack anyone. We were not able to find him in time and he found you instead."

Steve's mind raced at the implications of this, "Really? So...am I? I mean, what does...How?" He trailed off helplessly, not knowing how to ask or even _what _to ask. He tried to bring a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, habitual gesture when he's stressed and was startled when his hand jerked to a halt.

He was restrained?

"I apologize Mr. Rogers for the restraints but we were not too sure what happened to you exactly and feared you might be a danger to yourself or others that live here. I can remove the ones on your wrists but for the time being, would you allow the ankle ones to remain?"

Steve nodded numbly, danger? This was a bit too much.

"Perhaps it is best to start at the beginning..." Erskine mused. "So typically when a vampire bites..."

* * *

Steve leaned back against the now angled medical bed, feeling very overwhelmed, his fingers tangled in his hair.

Good news was that he was still Steve Rogers as far as they could tell.

Bad news was he might still be a crazy blood thirsty monster, a tickling time bomb. As far as anyone knew, the vampire's venom could turn him completely any time and he'd attack whoever was closest. He might be able to age, he might be able to go out in the sun, he might be able to still eat normal food, he might also be burned if a cross touched his skin or garlic and he might only die if a stake was driven through his heart and he was beheaded. His case was completely unique and no one knew why he was different.

His traitorous stomach growled and he was all too aware how dry his mouth and throat was; Erskine looked at him sympathetically.

"The owner of this house did his best to find you something you could eat. In fact he went a little overboard if you're ever feeling particularly adventurous." He said as he got up and strode across the room and began to fumble around just out of sight of Steve. A few second later, Steve heard a beep and Dr. Erskine came back holding two translucent sippy-cups. "But why don't we just start with the basics. Out of the known vampire species, a number exist on animal blood, specifically cow." He lifted one cup before gesturing with the other. "Then we have the classic human blood-bank B-positive."

Steve stared at him incredulously before steeling himself and took both cups; this was his reality now, this was his body and being squeamish was not going to help any. He sniffed at both, neither smelt _bad_ but neither smelt all that appealing either, just of iron. Taking a deep breath, he brought the cow one up and took a sip.

Not bad. Still, he didn't really want to think about it and instead asked, "Can I ask a question?"

"Just one?" Erskine replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Why me?" He whispered, the thought that had plagued him since he had begun to believe the Doctor. "Why did it attack me?"

"I suppose that is the only one that matters." Dr. Erskine said with a sigh, putting his pen down. "Who knows? Maybe you were just convenient, maybe you smelt good, maybe for whatever it was that save your life. Perhaps because you were a little guy and an easy target or because you are a good man and that made your blood more appealing. I'm sad to say Steve that I have no answers for you."

"Oh." Steve murmured, putting the now empty cup down on the side table and hunched, feeling miserable. "So what now? I can't just go back to my old life, not looking like this, with no answers and not knowing if I could snap and massacre everyone. What do I do?"

"Stay here of course." Came a new voice from across the room and a fairly young middle aged man with brown hair, a goatee and wicked smirk walked into view. "Name's Tony, mi casa es su casa and all that; my home is already open to all sorts of strays, you'll fit right in."

* * *

**RP - Received Pronunciation: this is what is viewed as a standard English accent for most people outside of the UK and is a non-regional accent but rather the sort of 'gold-standard' for pronunciation in school's and formal speaking.**

**I can post descriptions of the various mythological creatures that will be appearing in this, would that be something you as a reader would like?**

**Jarvis: Ghost  
****Erskine: Naga**


End file.
